You Can Make It Up: Eric Stoltz Gets Drunk And Buys A DeLorean On-Line

Eric Stoltz was ridiculously drunk. He had started with beer, just, like, four or five beers around 2PM, or maybe it was 3PM, but it was definitely two or three PM and it was definitely not a big deal. But then there had been the pre-dinner cocktails, and a bottle of wine with dinner, and then he’d settled into a bottle of scotch, and it actually wasn’t until he was out of ice and had accidentally let the tumbler slip out of his hand where it smashed on the ground and forced him to drink from the bottle because that was his last tumbler and this was not a particularly rare thing to be dropping them that he realized he hadn’t actually eaten dinner, or lunch for that matter, and he tried to think of when the last time was that he actually ate but drew a blank and eventually forgot what he was even trying to think about in the first place, and that’s when he booted up his computer. He logged on to his preferred (for the moment) subscription porn site and jerked off real quick just to get that out of the way, and then he just started click around and muttering things to himself. Things like, “shouldafuckenbeenme” and “everyonemakesmistakesEricandjusthavesomefaiththatGodhasaplanforyou.”

It was Wednesday night.

After a brief perusal of the Eric Stoltz message board that Eric Stoltz had a friend set up for him and which did not get nearly as many vibrant Eric Stoltz discussions going as Eric Stoltz had thought it would, with most forums containing only one or two posts, usually from Stoltz himself, raising topics such as “WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE STOLTZ OUTFIT?” and “CAMPAIGN FOR STOLTZ TO HOST SNL“, he turned his attention to the larger Internet outside of the Stoltz intranet BBS. Soon enough, following a surprisingly short string of non-sequiturial Google searches and hyperlink clicks, Eric Stoltz ended up on noveltycarfinder.com, typed in DeLorean, found one being sold by a man in Wisconsin (the listing featured a photo of the man standing next to the car, which was parked crosswise across his lawn in front of a drab and depressing one-story house), added it to his cart, and clicked “buy.”

“Haha,” Eric Stoltz said, coughing hard and feeling the burn of a little throwup at the back of his throat. “That’s fucking hilarious,” he said.

He found the seller’s email address and wrote him the following:

Subject: Eric car hi
Hi this Eirc Stolzt, i bught the care but i have r questin. Doe it run on vetgetbles? LOL!

Eric Stoltz logged in to a different subscription porn site and clicked around for awhile (two hours) but couldn’t get hard again, so he shut the computer down and walked into the bathroom. He passed out on the toilet for awhile with a toothbrush in his mouth. At one point, he woke up, although he was still quite drunk, but it seemed to be daylight out. He flopped onto his bed with his pants around his ankles and the toothbrush still lolling out of the side of his mouth. When he woke up again he sat up and rubbed his face. He held the wall as he made his way into the office to check his email, skim some headlines on HuffPo, and take a look to see if any new porn had been uploaded while he was sleeping. In the night, and the better part of the day, the seller of the DeLorean had responded to his email in a pretty straight-forward manner, asking him to send a certified check and wondering if he lived in Wisconsin, but in either case generally inquiring how and when he planned to pick up the car.

Eric Stoltz’s eyes were blurry and he had to read the email a few times. “Fuck,” he said. “Another DeLorean? Get it together, Stoltz.” His chair creaked.

Two things.
1. I first read “…and the toothbrush still lolling out of the side of his mouth” and thought “Why the fuck is the toothbrush laughing?” and then realized that the internet is ruining everything.

2. Why are we being mean to Eric Stoltz? I mean this isn’t THAT mean but Eric Stoltz always seemed like a pretty nice guy. And finding out about the whole BTTF thing made me feel bad for the guy.

YOU CAN MAKE IT UP: MICHAEL J. FOX GETS DRUNK AND BUYS A DELOREAN ON-LINE

Michael J. Fox was ridiculously drunk. He had started with beer, just, like, four or five beers around 2PM, or maybe it was 3PM, but it was definitely two or three PM and it was definitely not a big deal. But then there had been the pre-dinner cocktails, and a bottle of wine with dinner, and then he’d settled into a bottle of scotch, and it actually wasn’t until he was out of ice and had accidentally let the tumbler slip out of his hand where it smashed on the ground and forced him to drink from the bottle because that was his last tumbler and this was not a particularly rare thing to be dropping them that he realized he hadn’t actually eaten dinner, or lunch for that matter, and he tried to think of when the last time was that he actually ate but drew a blank and eventually forgot what he was even trying to think about in the first place, and that’s when he booted up his computer. He logged on to his preferred (for the moment) subscription porn site and jerked off real quick just to get that out of the way, and then he just started click around and muttering things to himself. Things like, “shouldafuckenbeenme” and “everyonemakesmistakesEricandjusthavesomefaiththatGodhasaplanforyou.”

It was Wednesday night. After a brief perusal of the Michael J. Fox message board that Michael J. Fox had a friend set up for him and which did not get nearly as many vibrant Michael J. Fox discussions going as Michael J. Fox had thought it would, with most forums containing only one or two posts, usually from Fox himself, raising topics such as “WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE FOX OUTFIT?” and “CAMPAIGN FOR FOX TO HOST SNL“, he turned his attention to the larger Internet outside of the Fox intranet BBS.

Soon enough, following a surprisingly short string of non-sequiturial Google searches and hyperlink clicks, Michael J. Fox ended up on noveltycarfinder.com, typed in DeLorean, found one being sold by a man in Wisconsin (the listing featured a photo of the man standing next to the car, which was parked crosswise across his lawn in front of a drab and depressing one-story house), added it to his cart, and clicked “buy.”

“Haha,” Michael J. Fox said, coughing hard and feeling the burn of a little throwup at the back of his throat. “That’s fucking hilarious,” he said.

He found the seller’s email address and wrote him the following:

Subject: Mike car hi Hi this Mike FOxxx, i bught the care but i have r questin. Doe it run on vetgetbles? LOL!

Michael J. Fox logged in to a different subscription porn site and clicked around for awhile (two hours) but couldn’t get hard again, so he shut the computer down and walked into the bathroom. He passed out on the toilet for awhile with a toothbrush in his mouth. At one point, he woke up, although he was still quite drunk, but it seemed to be daylight out. He flopped onto his bed with his pants around his ankles and the toothbrush still lolling out of the side of his mouth. When he woke up again he sat up and rubbed his face. He held the wall as he made his way into the office to check his email, skim some headlines on HuffPo, and take a look to see if any new porn had been uploaded while he was sleeping.

In the night, and the better part of the day, the seller of the DeLorean had responded to his email in a pretty straight-forward manner, asking him to send a certified check and wondering if he lived in Wisconsin, but in either case generally inquiring how and when he planned to pick up the car.

Michael J. Fox’s eyes were blurry and he had to read the email a few times. “Fuck,” he said. “Another DeLorean? Get it together, Fox.” His chair creaked.

Maybe he’s hoping to happen upon a DeLorean capable of time travel, so he can go back and stop himself from impulse-buying the first, and then all the subsequent DeLoreans.

He could then avoid all the financial and emotional woes involved in all the multiple purchases of the DeLoreans, the storage costs incurred, gas money, alcohol abuse etc…. but in doing so he would cause a time paradox, because if he stopped himself from a desolate path of going online and purchasing DeLoreans in a drunken fit of self-loathing, he would in turn never acquire the one capable of time travel in the first place!

“He is the only one of us who has learned to speak Humanese, O venerable Pong whose eyes outshine the sun,” said Ping the Grand Panda.

“That is true, O nimble Ping of the swift claws,” said Pong the Grander Panda. “But consider this, O snowy Poing, may the dew of your wisdom continue to drip from the tips of your every hair: he no longer believes that he is one of us. Ever since he discovered the Golden Bamboo Elixir through the lost, arcane rituals of Tao Chiao which he claims came to him in a dream, he has been -”

“I have heard of this, O loyal Pong, the rod upon which I lean in my whitening years,” said Poing the Grandest Panda. “The Golden Bamboo Elixir… it confers immortality, or that is the rumour whispered by the wind’s fleet wings. Is it true?”

“Does the Pope shit in the woods?” asked Pung, the Least Grandest Panda, in a rhetorical fashion.

“What is a pope, O Pung?” asked Ping the Grand Panda.

Pung mumbled something under his breath but Poing’s ears were sharp in spite of his age.

“Fetch us some green tea, O Pung, and remember that a tree falling alone in the woods does not always go unheard. Learn to mind your tongue, and reflect on the generosity of spirit menial tasks encourage.”

Pung had only taken the job because his mom had leukemia. In real life, he was a poet, but renting a decent tree for his mom’s Sun Therapy cost a lot of bamboo sprouts. Of course he’d tried to talk her into just moving away from the other pandas and finding a quiet tree with all-day sun exposure somewhere out in the country but she’d refused. The bitch. “Wah wah leukemia wah wah,” that was Pung’s mom. “Wah wah do I look like a hillbilly to you wah wah.” Goddamn filial piety.

His exit was a masterpiece of aggrievement, his shoulders humped up, his back claws scraping. He even contrived a limp.

“Why did you hire that guy, O aged Poing of radiant warmth?” asked Pong the Grander Panda. “He is a dick.”

Poing sighed. “He has much to learn, O stalwart Pong, your spine never bending. That is true. But let us put the subject of Pung to one side and let us abandon the green tea I have sent him for. The making of it was the purpose anyway, not the imbibing of it. I feel that time is growing short. We must convince this Piedmont to aid us. We must remind him that, Golden Bamboo Elixir or not, he is still a panda.”

**********

“Wee, O me!” cried Piedmont, spinning around the top of his tree, balancing on a creaking branch and hanging on with one claw.

“Be careful up there!” called Eric Stoltz from below.

Piedmont slowed his spinning enough to focus on the source of the voice. “Oh, you. Who are you?”

“I’m Eric Stoltz. I was in that movie Mask. I was the deformed guy. I’m in Caprica now.”

“Cool. I’m Piedmont.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” A pause. “I’m sorry, what were you saying, O weary Eric Stoltz, whose eyes conjure both laughter and sadness?”

“I was just saying, be careful. You looked like you were drunk before. Then.”

“I am drunk. You are very perceptive, Eric Stoltz. And I thank you for your concern. I will now pluck a single hair from my chest area and gift it to you, float it on down to you, it’s right there, catch it, CATCH IT! You missed it. It’s right there! Right there. Do you not see where I’m pointing? See, this is what I’m talking about. Fucking Eric Stoltz.”

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